Close Enough
by CeliaEquus
Summary: "It was close enough to first sight to count as the old cliche." Steve is pining for Phil, wishing for impossible things. But are they really so impossible? A story with two endings (since I couldn't decide on one). Capsicoul, with a couple of background pairings. Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this.


"Close Enough"

It was close enough to first sight to count as the old cliché. At least, that was what Steve Rogers thought as he let his pencil run over the page. His hand wasn't in it; his heart sure wasn't. What was left of it, anyway.

The pencil fell and Steve tugged at his hair as he leaned over the café table. He wanted just one person across from him, and that person… he was…

It was crazy. In Steve's day, this kind of thing was illegal all over the world, and he'd always liked _girls_. He loved Peggy; Peggy, who was still alive somewhere, who still owed him a date and a dance lesson. He would have liked to see her again.

But she'd moved on, probably married, with children. He didn't read that part of the report too carefully; that was looking on a different part of the past, one he had nothing to do with.

It didn't hurt as much as it should have. Not since he met Agent Phil Coulson.

"_I watched you while you were sleeping_."

Now Steve thought about that line with very different glasses on, and it was enough to make him blush when he was alone in bed at night. Sometimes he pretended that Phil was there, standing in the corner (he'd never forgive Tony for showing him _Twilight_), or sitting at the edge of the bed, or lying beside Steve.

The words had been embarrassing at the time, for different reasons. But then Phil had said:

"_People might just need a little old-fashioned_."

That was true. That's how he'd always felt, but thought would be too cheesy to say out loud in the twenty-first century.

And when Steve looked at him then, saw Phil turn away, a blush on his cheeks and conviction – conviction! – in his otherwise gentle eyes… that was when he fell. He fell so hard that he didn't know how to act around the agent; he chose to be ultra-professional, just like Phil, and tried to work out if he could get rid of these feelings, or at least hide them. He couldn't feel like this for another man, especially one he worked with. And a _fan_. That was something he avoided when he was doing the tours; it just didn't seem right. But now…

Now he regretted every second he hadn't spent with Phil. He'd keep the cards with him until the day he died. They were the only connection he had to Phil Coulson, and he wasn't letting them go, _ever_. They'd stay with him, bloodstains and all, even during battle. If he was going to be taken down, he was going down with the same cards that'd been in _his_ pocket, Steve's blood joining _his_.

The pocket of the shirt he wore under his Captain America costume wasn't directly over his heart, but it was close enough.

_Possible endings_

Despite the news reports and negative views, most people's spirits seemed to be lifted to see the Avengers assist with the long clean-up in the wake of the attack. Thor had taken Loki back to Asgard, but the rest of them were together, taking a break at the same shawarma place they had visited after the battle. It made Steve think of Phil, and the food was as tasteless to him as food always was.

Everything made Steve think of Phil.

Even that man at the café across the road. There was something about him, his profile, just the… the feeling that Steve got. Like someone he cared about was near. But then, he cared about his team-mates, even in the short time they'd been together, so it was just that. There was no way that Agent Coulson was still alive. Why that one man, out of so many people around them, should stand out… it was just insane.

No way. That was just wishful thinking.

"Penny for your thoughts, Cap?" Natasha asked, kicking his leg gently. He grinned.

"They're not worth that much," he said.

"You sure? I'm very good at interrogation. I could have the secret out of you in minutes."

"She could," Clint chimed in.

"I'd believe it," Steve said. He looked away again, trying not to let his gaze wander to the innocent stranger on the other side of the street, who was probably on the phone to his wife or girlfriend. The last thing he needed was Captain America staring wistfully at him. It wasn't his fault that the super soldier was heartsick.

"I'm calling Fury," Tony said, dialling something on his phone. "He wanted us to check in." He smirked, holding the phone to his ear. "Far be it from me to annoy him."

"Careful," Bruce said. Tony snorted. "Hey, I happen to like SHIELD's Research and Development department. If you get me kicked out…"

"I won't get you kicked out," Tony said. "Besides, the facilities at Stark Tower are much better. You should see the lab I've designed for you." He frowned. "The phone's not answering. I'm just getting a machine."

"I thought you liked machines," Clint said. Tony threw a rolled up napkin at him. The archer caught it without even looking.

"You've designed a lab for me?" Bruce asked, his eyes wide. Steve and Natasha glanced at each other, smiling. This was a good distraction. "Wait, why?"

"You're all going to stay at the new Avengers mansion, if you want," Tony said. Then he held up a finger. "Yeah, thanks. I'm trying to get through to Nick Fury? Okay. I'll wait." He made a face. "I don't like being put on hold."

"Why would we stay with you?" Clint asked.

"_Some_ of us here have seen my place, and know how sweet it is," Tony replied, looking pointedly at Natasha, who shrugged. "Hang on… Still here. He's what? Well, get him to call me back when he's finished, okay? Thanks."

"Busy?" Steve asked. Tony nodded.

"On the phone to someone else."

Steve's eyes strayed back to the man. Something kept tugging at his mind, but he shoved it away. There was no point in wanting something impossible to be true.

Those cards felt so heavy in his pocket. He sighed, and began to return his attention to the others.

A movement distracted him. The stranger, still on the phone, nodded. He seemed to look over to them, and Steve straightened. The others were still chatting, but it was just background noise to him. The stranger hung up, got to his feet, and dropped what was probably money on the table. Tony's phone rang, and Steve tuned in.

"Just checking in, sir," Tony said. The tone of his voice must have been enough to annoy Fury, because the billionaire chuckled. "I'm just following your orders. I'm sorry, was I not supposed to? Oh, someone _else_ was supposed to check in for us. Ri-ight."

Steve stopped paying attention again, until Natasha nudged him, and pushed his glass into his hand.

"We're toasting him," she whispered.

"To Phil," Clint said, holding up his takeaway cup.

"To Phil," they echoed. Steve's voice caught on the words, unable to look away from the man crossing the street. Was it…?

He couldn't let himself hope, not until the man was nearer. But it would only take a few seconds.

Only a few seconds, until he was close enough.

_Another possible ending_

The tombstone was erected quickly, thanks to Tony pulling strings. All the Avengers had reunited – reassembled – to visit Phil's grave.

They stood there for nearly an hour, occasionally speaking, but usually silent. Natasha was leaning into Clint's side, arms around each other's shoulders; Pepper had her arms around Tony's waist, and his head was leaning against hers; opposite the two couples were Bruce and Thor, side-by-side; and Steve was to Thor's left, standing closest to the headstone.

"We should head back," Tony said. His voice was hoarse, and he had to clear his throat. "Fury had that thing he wanted us to look into. There's a meeting…" He coughed again, and Steve noticed him shuffling. "Normally, I'd be all in favour of blowing off a meeting, but Agent would have tasered me, so."

"We'll visit again soon, Phil," Pepper said, and she dropped a rose on the ground. Tony let his fall as well, followed by Clint and Natasha, then Bruce. Thor had brought some kind of flower from Asgard, and let it fall amongst them.

Steve didn't want to just drop his, so he squatted down, reached out, and placed his in as straight a line as possible, the heart of the flower aimed dead centre. He grimaced at the unintentional pun.

"Sorry, Agent Coulson," he said. He barely noticed one knee touching the ground, steadying himself as he placed a hand on the grass. "I should have… I wish we'd spent more time together." The others began to peel away, but he stayed, everything else fading away. "I'd leave the cards here, but I reckon you'd come back to haunt me for letting them get wet or anything like that. And, heck, I can be selfish, too. I hope you don't mind me keeping them."

Vaguely, he could hear the others talking, and wished they'd shut up, have some respect for the dead people around them, especially the one he was talking to. He heard them calling his name, and simply waved them off in favour of touching the tombstone. It was clean now, but time would darken it, wear it away. By then, there'd be no one left to remember anything of Phil Coulson, except the legend; and only then, it would be the people in SHIELD. At least Steve had the Captain America legacy, even if he didn't really want it that much.

And one day, Phil would just be… forgotten.

"I'll see you at base soon," he told the person behind him. "I promise."

Just then, the footsteps faltered, and a hand collided with his shoulder, the other latching onto the headstone beside Steve's. The superhero was nearly knocked over, but he stiffened when he heard the familiar voice.

"Director Fury didn't send me to get you, Captain Rogers."

Steve wrenched around, squinting against the sunlight. When he was able to focus on the face above him, his gut twisted.

"S-sir," he whispered. Phil's cheeks darkened; that much Steve could see.

"Just call me 'Phil'."

"_Phil_," Steve said, and he surged up. He wasted three seconds taking in the agent's form, not as straight-backed as before, and less confident; but he was alive! Steve couldn't wait any longer, and pulled Phil into his arms, kissing him desperately.

Some distance away, watching the bizarre – and very much unexpected – reunion, the others looked at each other. Thor was the only one not lost for words.

"This calls for a celebration the likes of which have never been seen outside of Asgard!" he boomed. Even his volume couldn't break up the embrace, which was slowly getting more heated the longer it went on. Tony walked to Thor's side and patted his back.

"Point Break, I don't think even one of _my_ parties could top that 'welcome back'," he said. "Come on. If Fury's little gathering isn't supposed to be about this, it's _gonna_ be about this."

"Maybe someone should stay behind, you know, to make sure they get home all right," Natasha said, watching. Now Steve and Phil were talking quietly, Steve running his hands over the agent, looking worried. Phil stopped his hands, and moved them back to cup his face. Their combined smiles could have lit up more countries than a giant arc reactor.

"I agree," Pepper said, standing beside Natasha.

"Come on, they can take care of themselves," Clint said, touching Natasha. She shrugged him off.

"We're good here," she said. The two women smiled as the men began to kiss again.

"Hey, if they were two women, and we wanted to stay and watch, you'd call us perverts," Tony said, pulling Pepper away. She and Natasha allowed themselves to be dragged along, pretending to be more reluctant than they really were.

But they couldn't help sneaking another glance, all the while plotting revenge on their boyfriends for being spoilsports.

* * *

**I posted this on AO3 – my new 'toy' – in three parts, forgetting that I'd already entered this in one of my folders as a one-shot. Anyway. Smeg happens.**

**I can't seem to stop coming up with ideas for Capsicoul fics. What does that say about me? Moving very swiftly on, I've got other Avengers fics in the making, some just plotted (or partially plotted), others started. I think I'll need more notebooks. I write fan fiction better when I handwrite it first. Yet when I'm writing my original fiction, I write it better on the laptop, rather than handwriting first. Weird, right?**

**So… what did you think of this?**


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